Closeted
by Maranwe Elanor
Summary: Aragorn and Legolas incur the wrath of Elladan and Elrhoir and end up trapped.


**Title: Closeted**

**Author: Maranwe **

**Rating: PG (actually, it's probably G, but /shrugs/)**

**Disclaimer: Not owned by me, none of it. Celboril was created by Cassia and Sio, not me.**

**Summary: Aragorn and Legolas incur the wrath of Elladan and Elrohir and end up trapped. Bet you can't guess where. lol.**

**Warnings: None. No slash.**

**AN: This was written for the Teitho fic challenge on the MC list for the "Friends in Small Places" theme. It's part and parcel to no other fic I've written. Enjoy.**

o/o/o/o/o/o

They moved quickly, fleeing the sounds of rage that echoed above their heads.

"Quickly, Estel!" Legolas urged.

"Down here!" was the gasped reply. The dark-haired human opened a nearby door and slipped inside without hesitation. Legolas followed, closing the door carefully behind him, and almost fell after just his first step. He could hear Aragorn's cadenced strides before him, measured despite their urgency, and began his own descent. His glow cast shadows over the stairs, but he did not mind. The elf reached the bottom landing just after his friend and took off with him down the dimly lit hallway.

He could not help but glance behind him as they ran, hoping not to see with his eyes what he feared he couldn't hear with his ears. The twins would follow them, that much he knew; but would they think to look down here? And how long would it take for that to happen? He couldn't even begin to guess, but his instincts shrieked 'Not long!'

Aragorn, apparently, had the same thought.

Stopping as suddenly as if he had hit a wall, the human lunged sideways and wrapped his hand around a very old, intricate, wrought iron door handle. A sharp twist and he yanked this door open, too. "In here," he directed, his voice a breathless whisper.

Legolas obeyed without question, pressing himself to the back of the small space. His eyes skimmed briefly over the long tweed brown cloak that still called this place home and the battered black boots, then his back hit the wall and Aragorn back in, pulling the door closed behind him. He pressed his hand against the other's back to keep from being stepped on and both went still.

No sooner had they frozen than his sharp ears picked up footsteps reaching the bottom of the stairs. Aragorn's instincts, it seemed, were even better than his own when it came to the twins, probably making up or the inferiority of his mortal senses.

The archer's eyes bored into the wooden door before him, waiting for Elladan and Elrohir to burst through it and end their little escapade. End it, and put them in the healers' clutches for the next week—or year.

Trapped as they were, in so small a space, they would be at the others' mercies. He wished his friend had chosen a better hiding place—didn't understand why they couldn't have simply fled Imladris all together—and struggled to hear if they had been discovered. His body was as tense as a bowstring as their pursuers drew closer.

He dared not breathe as Elladan and Elrohir reached their hiding place, and felt Aragorn hold his breath, as well, his hand no longer moving as the ranger inhaled and exhaled. When the twins stopped before the closet door, neither friend so much as blinked.

For a moment, all was silent. The twins, themselves, did not seem to be breathing; then one of them growled.

"Perhaps we missed them."

"They couldn't have gotten far."

"If they were smart, they'd have already fled Rivendell."

"Which means they're here. . . ."

". . . somewhere."

Silence fell and Legolas resisted their urge to scowl. There would be plenty of time for that later, when the twins were far away and the threat of discovery gone with them. He could wait that long.

He heard something, then, faint and almost inaudible, but his elven ears strained to catch it. It wasn't the twins, that much he could tell, but he couldn't distinguish much more than that through the wooden door. The twins, however, could.

"Coming, Ada!" one of them—it sounded like Elrohir—shouted in the direction of the stairs.

"They won't get away with this," Elladan muttered. "Father can't keep us busy forever. And when we're done—"

"—We'll show them what it means to mess with us."

One of them leaned against the closet door. "You don't think Ada will let us out of the festival, do you?"

"No. But he won't excuse Estel, either. That little human will get what's coming to him then."

"And he'll have an attentive audience."

Legolas knew the pair of them well enough to be able to imagine the sadistic grins on their faces without needing to see them. It was too much, he knew, to hope that because he was not mentioned that he would be forgotten. More than likely, they would include him in whatever they planned for Estel—simply as a matter of course.

The door rattled as the weight was removed from it. Any second, the elf prince expected they would realize how close they were, throw the door open, and end the friends' hope of escape.

Yet the seconds lengthened. The soft sounds of their footsteps grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared altogether, resounding briefly as the gained the foot of the stairs and began their ascent.

Legolas sighed quietly, his relief palpable. In front of him, Aragorn gasped and slumped sideways into the wall, panting heavily as he tried to regain his breath and reminding the elf that humans did not have as much control over their bodies as the firstborn. Retroactively, he worried about the length of time Aragorn had had to hold his breath.

But the ranger was smiling, chuckling on the little air had to do so. "That was fun," he pronounced, unconcerned now that the immediate threat was gone.

"Fun?" the elf blurted, his disbelief clear. "Do you have a death wish, human?"

That only made his companion laugh harder. Before he could comment further, Strider held up his hands, placating, and straightened, regaining some semblance of dignity. "Peace, my friend. We have escaped their initial wrath. If we can survive the next hour, much of their ire will be gone, and we shall have a chance to make good our escape."

"What about the festival?" Legolas protested, not quite reassured. "Lord Elrond expects you to attend. Elrohir was right—"

"Elladan."

"What?" He blinked.

The man shifted. "It was Elladan, nor Elrohir."

The prince just stared at him, then shook his head. "Whoever. Lord Elrond still will not excuse you."

"I hadn't exactly planned on asking his permission."

The man's expression was hard to read in the dim glow of his own light, but the word had been determinedly casual. This time, he frowned is disapproval. "Estel. . . ."

"It would not be the first time," Aragorn interrupted, his tone sliding between defensive and placating, imbuing the sentence with an odd cadence that made it difficult to understand though the words were simple. "Ada will understand."

"I don't like it."

"I know." The human grinned ruefully. "Sometimes it's just easier to ask forgiveness than permission," the ranger explained quietly. "Permission, he would not be able to grant because he cannot, both because of the festival and because to allow me to leave he would need to grant Elladan and Elrohir the same. Forgiveness carries none of those complications."

Legolas stared at the human skeptically. He doubted his father would ever accept that philosophy, whether it was true or not—and certainly not as Estel spoke of it, like it was a conspiracy between the elf lord and his adopted son. Still. . . . "An hour, you say?"

"An hour," he confirmed. "And then we can make good our escape."

He sighed in resignation. "I wish you had chosen a bigger room."

o/o/o/o/o

Aragorn shifted ever so slightly, moving his body a fraction of an inch and then resettling almost exactly where he had been before. He sighed. He shifted his head a little to the right then leaned back again, pressed closely against the wall, his legs drawn up to his chest. The corner he was staring at—where both walls and the ceiling met—did not change noticeably with the adjustment. He had not expected it to, but there was little harm in trying. He sighed again.

As a child, he had done this often, whether because of pranks or because they were playing hide-me-seek-me. Some of his favorite hiding places had been closets. Small, he had considered them just his size, and there were plenty of them to be found within the Last Homely House. It had taken Elladan and Elrohir hours to find him, searching them all, unless they got lucky. Often, he had been in the one they searched last—or not in one at all. But he never remembered being this bored.

Or this cramped.

He started to shift again but brushed Legolas and froze, wide eyes dropping from the ceiling to latch onto the prince's face. Blue eyes (nearly black in the gloom) stared right back at him. "Sorry," he muttered, relaxing back into his former position and feeling the immediate desire to move.

The ranger fought it stubbornly and stared instead at the door. It was made of a dark wood, quite thick, and decorated with an intricate flowering vine that wound its way around the frame, but he could not see it. Shadows were all he could make out so he did not even try. Again, he sighed.

"If you don't stop that, mellon nin, you will find yourself unable to breathe."

His head snapped around, quickly fixing on the Mirkwood elf, and he smiled apologetically at the sight of the dark glare directed his way.

"I believe enough time has passed," Legolas continued after a moment.

By his count, they still had a quarter hour left, but he turned his head and carefully considered he door anyway. Wood-elves weren't known for their patience in anything except hunting, and hiding in a closet in the basement of the Last Homely House was far removed from the trees of Mirkwood. Judging from the other's expression, the difference was about to be made abundantly and painfully clear.

That left him in between Legolas and his brothers. Legolas, obviously, was right beside him and within easy striking distance. His brothers. . . .

His brothers were almost certainly outside, attending the festival with everyone else in Rivendell. By the time they were ready to leave, time would be up. He tilted his head slightly, reviewing his reasoning, and shrugged. If nothing else, enough time had passed that they could safely leave his little closet. "Close enough," he finally answered.

With not just a little trouble, Aragorn rose to his feet, Legolas right behind him. The walls seemed to be everywhere and always too close, and when they weren't, Legolas was. His elbow tingled from where he had struck the wall; his foot smarted from where it had been stepped on; and his head throbbed dully from where he and Legolas had-inadvertently-put their heads together; but, in the end, both were standing, as much space between them as possible in the enclosed space, and the young man was only too glad to be leaving.

Feeling like a man about to be granted his greatest wish, the ranger reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the doorknob, feeling the coolness of the metal where it made a wavy line across his palm. He twisted it, listening for the soft click of the released latch, and heard a snap instead. He froze.

For a moment, he did not react, did not move, did not comprehend the sounds or his hand's sudden freedom of movement, did not even try. He did not want to understand, was afraid to understand, and sought to delay his cognizance as long as possible, instinctively aware it could not remain a mystery indefinitely.

"Strider?"

Clarity descended. He moved his hand down an inch or two and the handle went, too, offering no complaint when it passed beyond its natural bounds of movement. He swallowed. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?" Legolas answered uneasily, leaning closer in an effort to see his face. "What's 'uh-oh'?"

"Um, perhaps it would be better if we stayed here awhile longer," he replied instead, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably in his own ears.

"Strider," the other growled, warning against similar attempts. "What happened?"

He looked at his friends face but could not meet the elf's blue eyes. He pushed nervously at the door in a last-ditch effort to escape this, to prove himself wrong, but the door did not budge, stubbornly latched in place. "We, uh. . . ." His eyes darted nervously to the side, seeking escape where none was available. He was trapped. "We can't get out."

And explosion, fiery fury, lash, pain-

"We _what_?"

Soft, deceptively calm, sharp-edged; not what he had expected. Aragorn wavered, unbalanced by the failure of his expectations. Unbalanced, but not relieved. "We can't get out," he repeated, the statement an exact duplicate of the last so that the moments could've been flip-flopped without the slightest change.

Legolas stared silently for a long minute. At another time, it might've been funny. "What do you mean, 'we can't get out'?" he asked finally.

"We can't get out." He emphasized each word and half-gestured at the door, his own shock beginning to wear off.

"What do you mean-"

"I mean we're stuck!" the young man interrupted sharply, highly annoyed. "I mean the handle broke and the door won't open so we can't leave! That's what I mean!" He brandished the doorknob in the other's face.

Legolas' eyes followed it, mesmerized, then darted to the door to verify for himself that what Aragorn said was true. For good measure, he even pushed against the solid wood.

Shut, it was; and shut, it remained.

"We're stuck," the elf repeated quietly. His eyes darted quickly around the small, dark space, and the ranger easily read his thoughts on his face. Hiding in a small, dark, cramped closet beneath the earth was one thing; hiding in a small, dark cramped closet beneath the earth with no way out was quite another. "What do we do now?" he asked, tense.

"How should I know?" the ranger answered.

"You've done this before!"

"I don't make it a habit of getting locked in closets, Legolas," he countered testily.

The elf rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you broke it."

"I didn't break it," he protested, scowling. "It broke."

"Doors don't break on their own, Strider."

"Are you saying it's my fault?"

"You touched it," the elf pointed out.

"How else was I suppose to open the door?" he exploded angrily. "With my mind?"

Legolas mirrored his glare and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well then it wouldn't have been broken, now would it."

"If your worship is so perfect," Estel seethed, "why don't you open the door?" He thrust the worthless handle into the other's hands.

"Because I didn't get us into this mess," Legolas said. "You did." He shoved it back.

"But my intellect is so very inferior to yours," the ranger bit out, "so you're obviously the better choice." He pressed it back into his companion's hands.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," Legolas shook his head. "This is all your doing, now do something about it." He forced the handle back into the ranger's hands and resolutely stepped back, folding his arms across his chest.

Aragorn scowled at him but made no further protest. It would avail nothing, he knew. So he did the only thing he could think of: he yelled. "Ada!" Listening only long enough to draw another breath, he repeated the call. "Ada! Ah-da! ADA!"

"Enough!" Legolas interrupted, holding his ears. "Are you trying to make me deaf?"

"You told me to do something," he answered reasonably, shrugging slightly.

"Well it is obviously not working, so pray don't continue."

"As you wish." The young man glanced around briefly, casting about for something of interest. "So, what do we do now?"

His friend glared at him again, then sighed, the anger gone as quickly as it had come. "What can we do?"

Aragorn shrugged. "Wait."

Sighing, both put their backs against the far all and slid to the floor. Scrunched so closely together it was nearly painful, the friends nevertheless stared over their raised knees at the dim crack beneath the door, making no effort to move from their slightly uncomfortable position.

"How long before they realize we're missing, do you think?" Legolas asked after a long moment of listening to the silence.

Aragorn pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. "Maybe by the end of the festival."

"Not sooner?"

"They'll be busy." He would have shrugged, but he could not move his arm.

"When do you think they'll find us?"

The ranger stared blankly at the door. He couldn't remember the last time anyone else had come down here. "Next year?" he ventured tentatively.

"I guess we have time, then," the elf prince answered. He looked at the ranger and Aragorn looked back. "So what shall we do to entertain ourselves?"

o/o/o/o/o

Even beginning just after breakfast, with the first rays of light just brushing the horizon, the festival celebrating the summer solstice would last well into the night, aided and abetted by much food and drink. Entertainment (no matter what your tastes) was not difficult to come by, and Elladan and Elrohir had always enjoyed themselves immensely. Now, however, something was missing. Or rather, someone. And they could not find him anywhere.

The two dark-haired elves paced across the grounds in search of their father, ever careful not to get caught up in the merry-making. Elrond regarded them somewhat warily as the stopped before him. The slightest of smiles curved his lips as he took in their appearance.

"Ada," Elrohir greeted easily, taking the initiative.

"My sons," the elven lord answered warmly. "Why are you not enjoying the festivities?"

"We were wondering if you ad seen Estel, father."

"Estel?" The elder elf frowned slightly as he scanned the carousing elves for his missing human son. "Nay, not since this morning." Left unsaid was that it had been at breakfast when Aragorn's and Legolas' prank had been revealed in all its glory by the angry arrival of the twins.

"It is not like him to miss the festival." Elrond raised an eyebrow at Elrohir's statement but did not comment. "Where could he be?"

"On his way to Mirkwood?" the lord of Rivendell inquired, sounding faintly amused.

"But, Ada," Elrohir objected, "you forbid us to leave before the festival was past."

"Besides," Elladan added, "we have already checked their rooms and the stables, and both their packs and their horses are still here."

"And Legolas, at least, is not so foolish as to attempt the trip to Mirkwood without either."

A look of concern passed briefly over Elrond's face, banished quickly so as not to alarm his people. "Then let us hope they remain in Rivendell and come to no harm," he answered. "You are free to look for them."

Both bowed and turned away. They did not speak as they approached the house but silently debated where best to begin their search. In the end, they decided to start at the top. Working their way down, they searched every room, every closet, every nook, every crevice, under every bed, and in every chest, even if they couldn't see how a fully grown man or elf could fit inside it.

They weren't in the attic. They weren't in their rooms, nor the twins', nor the rooms next to theirs or the guest quarters on the other side of the hall. They were not in Ada's study, nor the library, nor on any of the balconies. That eliminated the second floor. From there, they searched the kitchens, the Hall of Fire (not that there were many places to hide in there but one could never tell), the parlor, the dining room, the council rooms, the healing rooms, and every closet, crawlway and storage room from one side of the house to the other.

Stymied, they found themselves at the stairway to the basement. They had been down there earlier in their chase but had assumed they lost them. Elrohir glanced at Elladan; Elladan glanced at Elrohir. Both shrugged. Together, they crept down the slightly narrow and ill-lit stairs.

The twins had never had much reason to go down there as those storage rooms were almost never used and, consequently, neither did the rest of the household. Estel had never shown any inclination to the place but, now that they thought about it, where better to hide than some place nobody goes?

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, a new sound touched their ears, too soft to be readily identified. Elladan cocked his head, listening closely, as Elrohir glanced both ways down the hall before gesturing to the right. The elder twin nodded.

The sound grew louder as they approached, slowly resolving itself into a voice though the words remained indistinguishable. The twins opened any doors they came to as they went but were not surprised to find them empty. Their quarry was yet before them.

Laughter suddenly replaced the indistinct mutterings, carried by two voices: one clear and fair, the other low and full-both easily recognizable.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged perplexed looks, then continued forward towards the source of the sound. Neither was overly surprised to find themselves before the door with the iron vine handle even if it occurred to them to be sulky that they had been here once already and somehow missed the two friends. The laughter stopped-all sound from behind the door stopped-as Elladan reached forward and pulled the door open.

Four pairs of eyes blinked at each other from four different faces. It took the twins a moment to contemplate what they were seeing: namely, their human brother (one day to be king) and the young prince of Mirkwood-both of whom claimed to be full-grown-sitting on the floor, squished into a closet barely three feet wide with worn boots and a ratty cloak for company wearing large smiles and generous smears of dust. Neither twin could think of anything to say.

Aragorn was the first to move, rising to his feet more easily than any of the elves would have thought and greeting Elladan and Elrohir warmly. "My brothers! So nice to see you! Have you enjoyed the festival?"

The dark-haired elves just blinked at him as Legolas climbed to his feet and joined the human.

"Oh, and would you give this to Celboril to fix?" he added, dropping the other half of the door's handle into his hands. "It's most distressing to have broken doors, after all."

They glanced at the handle, then at Estel, then back at the handle, then at the door. When their eyes fell back on their little brother, they burst into laughter. In moments, both occupied the hall's floor, chortling helplessly.

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged glances, grinning slightly, then took advantage of the twins' incapacitation and finally made good their escape. By nightfall, they were nowhere near any closet.


End file.
